They'll Never Know
by lighthouse11
Summary: AU. Some weeks after falling from the train, Bucky Barnes then turns up in London, injured and desperately ill, in search of his friend and someone to help him, only to find that Steve is missing, the war is ending and the world may no longer be what Bucky Barnes knew.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I do not own the characters or names, etc in this story. All rights, etc belong to the good folks at Marvel.

Read and enjoy!

* * *

Bucky had expected London to be busier, but it was a damp, blustery Sunday, so the streets were near deserted. He navigated the Underground to Westminster and forced his legs up the stairs into central Whitehall. Bucky was not so sick as to not notice the stares he was attracting on the train, but Londoners were mercifully discrete, and no one said anything or looked twice at the sickly, unkempt soldier in the too-large coat. He was, sadly, an all too common sight.

Steve Rogers had been Bucky's first choice as someone to find, but he had no idea where Steve might be, or where to even start looking. Steve may still be in London, but it was also possible he'd already returned to the States, or still on the Continent somewhere, rounding up rouge Nazis. Howard Stark was a safer choice, as the places he could be more much more limited. Bucky now began to wonder if Howard Stark would even be there. He may have returned to the States. Or he may just be at home because it was Sunday. Or at church. Bucky hadn't been to church for months, and now, with Westminster Abbey looming off to his left, he felt drawn toward the building. His feet almost began to drift in that direction, until his mind brought them back in the direction he needed to be going. He didn't have time to sit through mass - he wasn't sure he'd last. He was still continually surprised that he'd made it this far, and he knew better than to push his luck.

Bucky wanted to see Steve so badly, to tell Steve that it was alright, that he didn't die; sure, he was in a pretty bad state, but they'd figure something out. With smart folks like Howard Stark and Agent Carter around, everything would be just fine. Bucky only hoped that his disappearance hadn't weighed too heavily upon Steve. It hadn't been his fault. It was war. It was what it was, but soon they'd both be home in Brooklyn, and it would all just be a story.

Bucky has expected to be held up by security and checked over before being allowed to enter the building which had been the centre of the Allied War effort, but there were no soldiers, no security or identification checks. Not that Bucky could possibly be any threat in his current state, but it was still different. What if Howard was gone? He may have packed up and gone too. Then what was Bucky to do? No, he couldn't think that until he checked. He gripped the stair rail tightly with his right hand as he descended down to the basement. His balance was terrible, he knew that, he leaned terribly to the right when he walked, and often found himself stumbling and tripping on his own feet. Bucky found it remarkable how the loss of his arm had affected so much of him.

Relief rushed through Bucky as he saw at the end of the tunnel, in the space he had always occupied in London, Howard Stark bent over a bench, welding mask on, examining something intently. Bucky walked slowly up to Howard's quarters. "I suppose I should have gone to church, but I reckon God's pretty good on forgiving, especially given the current circumstances," Bucky said, coming to a stop on the opposite side to the table to Howard. He gripped the table to try and stay upright, which was proving more than a challenge than it should be.

Howard Stark was, however, the one who needed to be holding onto something for support. He all but jumped out of his skin at Bucky's sudden appearance and pulled off the welding mask. "Holy - Oh my goodness. You're dead. Did you know that?"

"I thought that, maybe…"

"Hell, Bucky! Shit, sorry, you're real? You're actually real? What they hell happened too you?"

"I fell from the train…?" Bucky said, confused and unsure as to how much Stark knew. Bucky had assumed he'd been listed as missing, but not dead…

"Oh man, you look terrible," Howard Stark said seriously.

"I don't feel too great." Bucky admitted, trying to keep his tone light.

"No, Bucky, you don't understand. You look - I hate to say it, but I've better looking corpses."

"Gee, way to make a man feel good."

"No," Howard Stark said grimly, "You need to go to hospital."

"I know," Bucky admitted, "But do you know where Steve is?"

"Captain Rogers?"

"Yes?" Bucky asked hopefully.

"No."

"He's not in London?"

"I don't know where he is, Bucky."

"Is he still on the Continent?"

"No, Buck, we don't know where he is. At all. He, ah…" Howard trailed off.

Bucky felt his stomach drop. Any relief he had felt at returning to London and of finding Howard left him. The thought of being reunited with Steve had kept him going. "What happened?" Bucky asked, his mouth dry.

"Please sit down."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're really not," Howard Stark protested.

Bucky's legs felt like jelly and he was suddenly afraid they might give out. Howard swept around the table and grabbed Bucky around the waste. Howard reached his leg out and caught the leg of a nearby chair, dragging it across and placing it behind Bucky, forcing the soldier to sit. "What happened to Steve?" Bucky asked.

Howard sighed and leant against the table. "Once I tell you, I'm taking to straight to hospital."

"Fine," Bucky clenched his hand to stop it from shaking. If possible, he now felt worse. Something bad, something terrible had happened to Steve and he hadn't been there to help.

"Wait one second," Howard Stark said, "Hey, Collins!"

"Yes, sir?" A thin, spotty, be-speckled young man appeared from around the corner.

"Telephone Agent Carter. Tell her we've got a Code 2. Then call me a cab."

"Yes, sir." Collins said and ran down the tunnel, leaping up the stairs.

"What happened?" Bucky choked.

Howard picked up a pencil and began to twirl it nervously in his fingers. "Agent Carter knows more than I do, but, well…"

Less than ten minutes later Bucky was being supported by Howard as they climbed the stairs back to ground level. Bucky couldn't find any words. Steve was lost. He was probably dead. He had died trying to save the world. No, not trying, he _had_ saved the world. And given his life for it. Surely there had been another way. _I couldn't help him._ Bucky felt overwhelmed. His head ached and he wasn't sure whether it was from whatever illness was plaguing him or the news of Steve's likely demise. Ever since he had fallen from the train, even in his darkest moments, he had always had Steve and the knowledge that he had to get better because he had to get back to London to find Steve. The _assumed_ knowledge. Never had is crossed Bucky's mind that Steve could be dead.

Once they stepped outside, the cold momentarily brought Bucky back from the dark depths of his mind. A car was waiting at the door as Howard and Bucky emerged onto the street. They climbed in a Howard gave the direction. Bucky didn't hear which hospital he said. He couldn't hear anything. Steve couldn't be dead. Had Bucky not spent his entire life doing _everything_ to try and keep Steve alive? And now he was gone. He couldn't be gone. He just couldn't be. Howard's intel had to be wrong, because Steve couldn't be dead. If Steve was dead, then what had been the point of it all?

The streets of London passed in a blur, and soon Howard was helping Bucky out of the car, and into the hospital, where lots of people shouted lots of orders and a lot happened very quickly. Bucky let them poke and prod at him as they wished. They stripped him down to just his underwear. He didn't like it and wanted his clothes back, but had no choice but to trust them. He was too weak to do anything else, his every muscle ached, his head throbbed, his vision came in and out of focus and he felt as though he was running a fever of 106. Steve just couldn't be dead. He couldn't be.

"You alright with that, Bucky?" Howard asked, gently touching Bucky's arm, bringing the soldier back to the real world.

"Sorry?" Bucky mumbled.

"Dr Humphries and Dr Fitzgerald are going to operate on you now," Howard Stark explained, "They're going to help you. They're going to remove the pain in your, ah, shoulder. The wound isn't particularly - professional."

"Johann was a butcher," Bucky said, the memory coming suddenly to him. He looked at the ground. He couldn't bear too look at Howard Stark's barely hidden horror at Bucky's near-naked body, or at the doctor's shock at the case they'd just been given.

"Yeah, ah, right. But, you still have to give your consent, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky shrugged with his right shoulder. "Sure." He didn't know what they were going to do, and frankly, he wasn't overly worried. He was exhausted and feverish and in pain, and if they took any of those things away, surely he'd feel better. He had to get better, because he had to go and find Steve. "Yes," Bucky breathed, forcing himself to look at the doctors, "Please."


	2. Chapter 2

Howard sat by Bucky's beside. He'd paced the waiting room the entire time the soldier had been in surgery, and was now grateful to be off his feet. He looked at Bucky's pale, feverish face. He was so sick. He was so, so sick and weak and and broken and would have lost so much blood. Just the shock of the fall alone could have killed him. He should be dead. There was no nice way of saying that. James Buchanan Barnes should be dead. Some might say it was a miracle - but Howard didn't believe that. Something had happened to Bucky which he'd kept to himself. He should not be here, lying in a hospital in London. The fall alone should have killed him. So why was he still alive?

Howard had been planing to go and find Captain Rogers, to command the search mission himself, but now that Sergeant Barnes had returned from the dead, Stark couldn't bring himself to leave Roger's right-hand man. Stark scoffed. Well, now Barnes could only be a right-hand man. Perhaps, once Barnes was stable, Howard would still go and join the mission to find the Captain. Perhaps he'd take Barnes with him. But Howard knew that he couldn't find Rogers, and have to tell him that he, Howard, had abandoned Bucky. No, Howard had to wait. The ship was out searching, and Stark's helicopter would wait until he was ready. He'd find Rogers, and perhaps now he'd be able to do it with Bucky by his side.

Howard was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't rest. He pulled his notepad and pencil out from his pocket and began to scribble. He felt the overwhelming urge to invent, to make something good and useful. The scribble of a right angle morphed into an arm. A left arm, like the one Bucky had lost. Howard scribbled furiously, as though he could draw Bucky back his limb. Howard got up, went to the loo, bought a horrid, weak coffee and a bland cheese sandwich from the shop across the street, came back up to Bucky's room and continued to draw.

The hours past and the scribbles developed into more fully formed drawings, which in turn developed into technical drawings, to which Howard soon found himself scribbling rough notes, which themselves in turn developed into highly technical and specific annotations. Howard stopped drawing and flicked through the pages of the notebook.

"Oh Bucky," Howard said to Bucky's unconscious body, marvelling at his own creation, "We need to get you back State-side."

"What's the hurry?"

The voice made Howard jump. "Agent Carter."

"Mr Stark," Agent Carter nodded.

"Is it normal for you to go around sneaking up on guys like that?" He asked, putting his notepad and pencil away in his pocket.

"Is it normal for you to almost fill a notebook so quickly?"

"Sure, when I get an idea," Howard replied. "How long have you there?"

"About an hour," Agent Carter said, "What's this grand idea of yours then?"

"I don't even know if it will work. It probably won't. Forget it," Howard said, suddenly defensive of his drawings, afraid that Agent Carter would judge him, that there'd be some fundamental flaw in his design.

"Tell me. I won't laugh if that's what you're worried about."

"I should go. I haven't slept for like - what day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"For, umm," Howard tried to count, but now his brain was too tired. "A long while, anyway."

"Perhaps if you go and sleep on your idea, you'll be more willing to share?" Agent Carter suggested.

"Yeah. Sure. Ok," Howard said, "You take the chair. It's not really comfortable, but well, there's probably rations on decent furniture."

Agent Carter smiled. "Go. I'm not worried about the furniture."

"Thanks, Peggy. See you in a - I dunno. Lot of hours? Tomorrow? I don't even know what the time is."

"Get a cab and go home," Peggy said, pushing Howard out of Bucky's ward. "Go."

"Yep, right, goodnight or good whatever time of day it is in this gloomy dark hole of a home country of yours."

"Go!" Peggy laughed.

"He won't wake up yet, but if he does, call me," Stark rambled.

"Of course. Now, go and get some sleep," Peggy said, pulling the newspaper out of her handbag and sitting down beside Bucky's bed.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks everyone for the follows, favourites and reviews! Very much appreciated.

carolzoca: Not for a while yet, but she's certainly very important later on! It's still 1945 after all :)

* * *

Howard returned to the hospital nine hours later, having slept longer than he meant to, but he then decided that Peggy would be suspicious if he returned too soon, and send him away again to get more rest. But now, he'd had rest enough. When he woke, he'd quickly showered, shaved and found some clean clothes to wear. A hot bowl of stodgy porridge washed down with weak coffee had to serve for breakfast, and now, newspaper in hand, old notepad, new notepad and three pencils in his pocket, he walked up the stairs, two at a time, to Bucky's ward.

"Good morning, Agent Carter! Still nothing from Sleeping Beauty here?"

"Still sleeping."

"Well he doesn't look any worse, so I suppose that's good," Howard said. Bucky still looked terribly pale and feverish, with dark rings around his sleeping eyes, but he was looking more like someone who was seriously ill and less like a corpse.

"You look like you slept well," Agent Carter said.

"You look as though you haven't slept a wink."

"I dozed off for an hour or so," Agent Carter confessed, "You're right about this chair though. Of all the people in the world, Howard Stark, surely you could come up with a design more comfortable."

"I've got a design of a different kind, Peg," Howard said, "And after sleeping on it… I mean, seriously, you should see the alterations I need to make. What was I thinking? The movement would have been much too stiff in wrist, and the outer shell needs to be harder and lighter, because - wait, do you know how much the average arm weighs? Someone around here will know. The place is crawling with doctor's after all. Ooh, I wonder if I can get one myself, an arm that is, from a cadaver, not a doctor."

"What on earth are you rambling on about?" Agent Carter asked.

"What?" Howard asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"My invention," Howard replied, matter-of-factly.

"The nature of which, so far, you have failed to share," Agent Carter reminded him.

"Why, it's a robotic arm!" Howard said, near to bursting with enthusiasm.

"For Bucky?"

"Who else?"

"But, I mean, how?"

"Trust me, Peggy. You go, eat, sleep, freshen up. I've got some drawings to completely re-do. My goodness I'm a dope when tired! I've completely over-looked the effects of the electrical impulses on his central nervous system! Oh, and Peg, do you know the names of any good doctors? Someone a bit - out there. Willing to help."

"You're mad," Agent Carter said, standing up, "You have now officially lost the plot."

"Of course, I won't do it unless Bucky consents," Howard continued, ignoring Peggy. "And there's some things I'm not too sure about, for which I'll need his input."

"I think it's level four where they put the nutters. You'll fit right in," Agent Carter teased.

"Go and get some sleep, Peggy. Trust me, sleep makes you see so much clearer. Uh! Oh man, I've got hundreds of sketches I need to do. Peggy, this could change everything. I mean, think of all the guys who have lost limbs in the war! What this could mean for them!"

"Sergeant Barnes may not want to be your guinea pig, Howard, remember that."

"He's Steve's man, Peggy. He'll want in."

Peggy knew in her heart that that was true. "Well when I come back, I want to see some of these sketches."

"Absolutely."

"Right ho. Well then, see you in a couple of hours. I'm only going to freshen up. The doctor came about an hour and a half ago, and said Bucky should wake up later this afternoon. I'd like to be here for that."

"Of course. Alright then, see you soon."

"See you."

Howard sat down in the uncomfortable chair. "Nice work, tag-team partner, keeping the chair warm," he called to Peggy as she left. He saw her wave, as she disappeared down the hallway. He took out his notebooks and opened the used book from yesterday, propping it up against Bucky's unconscious body on the bed. "Hold still, Buck," Stark said to Bucky's sleeping form, opening the empty book, "I've got some drawing to do."

* * *

Bucky slowly felt consciousness returning to him. He had dreamt of nothing, for which he was grateful. He was warm, and felt secure, with the blankets tucked tightly around him. He was in no rush to wake up or open his eyes, rather letting himself drift in and out for a little while. He could hear other people in the room, but didn't bother listening to what they were saying, just that he found it reassuring to find they were speaking English.

After some time, he finally opened his eyes. At first, the light was blinding, so Bucky quickly closed them again.

"Bucky?"

"Mmm?" he moaned, his voice sounding strange in his throat.

"You gunna open your eyes?"

Bucky knew that voice. He knew that man. "Steve?" Bucky muttered, noticing his mouth was dry.

"Ah - no, Barnes, it's Howard Stark. Open your eyes and I'll give you a drink."

Bucky didn't want to see Howard Stark. He wanted to see Steve. He wanted to go back to sleep, to the nothing-dreams.

"Is he awake?" A girl's voice asked. An English girl. Bucky knew that girl…

"Gencar…" Bucky said, his words slurring together. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times. His focus returned and Bucky found Agent Carter and Howard Stark standing beside his bed.

"Hello," Agent Carter smiled.

Bucky looked around the room. He didn't know this place. "Where am I?"

"You're in hospital, Barnes," Howard Stark said, "Remember, we brought you here a couple of days ago. You had an operation on your arm to try and fix you up a bit, and, well, you've been out to the world ever since."

"Where's Steve?" Bucky asked, not entirely sure he remembered being admitted to hospital.

"Umm…"

"You said you told him," Agent Carter said. Bucky noticed that she suddenly looked sad.

"I did," Howard Stark said to her, "I told you, remember Bucky? In my lab at Whitehall. I told you about Steve, and the plane crash…"

Bucky felt his heart rate increase. He tried to sit up, only to find that it sent his head spinning. It was then he remembered everything; falling from the train, the pain, the Resistance fighters finding him, the long walk, the ferry, the train, Whitehall, Stark, the cab. Stark telling him about Steve. Steve finding him in the Hydra lab…

Bucky lifted his head and saw the IV drip in his right arm. "Get that out of me," he whispered.

"Bucky, it's helping you."

"No it's not," Bucky said, feeling panic wash through him. He went to pull it out himself, only to be cruelly reminded that his left arm was no longer there. "Get it out," he demanded.

"Barnes, that's what's saving you."

"Get it out!" Bucky yelled, "I don't need it! Get it out!"

"Bucky, calm down…"

Bucky kicked, and tried to pull his arm away from the drip, hoping to rip it out. "Get it out!"

"Nurse!" Stark yelled.

"Howard, no, just take it out…"

"GET IT OUT OF ME!"

"What is going on?" A nursing sister said, racing into the room.

"Get the drip out of him, now!"

"GET IT OUT!"

"But miss…"

"Do it!" Stark yelled.

"Sir…"

"GET IT OUT!" Bucky screamed.

"Alright!" The nurse said, "Sir, please hold the gentleman still."

"Bucky, she's going to take it out, just stay still," Stark said, putting his hands on Bucky's shoulders.

"Get. It. Out…" Bucky felt a small prick as the needle was removed from his arm.

"There. All gone," The nurse said. She looked afraid, as though he would try to hurt her.

Bucky breathed heavily and Stark let him go. "Shit, Barnes, what the hell was that?" Stark breathed, shocked at how Bucky had suddenly just flipped like that, stepping back from the bed.

"I have to go and tell Doctor Fitzgerald…" the nurse said nervously, and quickly left the ward.

Bucky noticing he was crying and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. "No needles. I don't care. No needles."

"But you're still on morphine, and you need penicillin…" Agent Carter said.

"No," Bucky said, trying to control his breathing, "I'll put up with the pain. No needles."

"Barnes, what the hell happened? It's just a needle, you're safe here."

"No!" Bucky yelled, "I - no," he sighed. Suddenly, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to go back to the black, nothing dreams. The world was too real, too full of people and things which terrified him. "Promise me?" he said, looking at Agent Carter and Mr Stark. "No needles?"

"No needles," Agent Carter said. Howard Stark nodded sincerely.

"Sorry…" Bucky muttered, "I just…"

"Here," Stark said, handing Bucky a glass of water just before the soldier could begin to cry again. Bucky slowly lifted his head and sipped. The water felt good as it filled his mouth. Bucky downed the drink, then handed the glass back to Stark. He lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes, wishing the world away.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky spend a week convalescing in hospital, but he was eager to be let out. He was bored and sick of being poked and prodded by doctors, stared at by nurses and gawked at by other patients, especially after word that he was the team mate of the famous Captain America got around. Howard Stark had made his intentions to return to the States quite clear, and Bucky was desperate to follow. On the day before his release, Stark came to visit him, and gave Bucky a ticket for a ship leaving in two days time; the same ship that Stark and Agent Carter were to be on.

As Bucky lay in his hospital bed that night, he couldn't get rid of a tightness in his stomach. Part of him was desperate to return to the US, since it had been years since he'd last been home, and so much had changed, and only, well, that was exactly it. It _had_ been years since he'd been State-side and _everything _had changed. And the thought worried him. Nothing could ever be how it was before. Damn it, Bucky thought, I don't even have all my limbs anymore.

He liked to think he was now adapting to life without his left arm reasonably well, but life in the hospital with forgiving doctors and compassionate nurses was much different to the world outside where wounded soldiers were a dime a dozen. Soon, no one would care that he was handicapped. They'd just expect him to get on, and Bucky found that he expected the same of himself. Not that he quite knew how he would, just that somehow, he had to keep going.

One thing he would be glad to leave behind in the hospital was the suspicion that surrounded him. Everyone from the medical staff to his fellow patients to Howard Stark and Peggy Carter all suspected there was something Bucky was keeping to himself. The doctors had explained to Bucky that his injuries from the fall and subsequent blood poisoning and illness should have killed him. That by all rights he should be dead. Bucky had just grumbled something about 'well aren't I lucky, then?', but he knew that no one bought it. Not that they should, of course, because it was a lie. Bucky's survival had little to do with luck, but he'd be damned if he was going to tell them the truth.

It was possible the truth was out there, and the thought that anyone might be able to find out made Bucky's stomach tighten even more. Out there, somewhere, was Steve's mission report from when he rescued 104 Squadron from the Hydra base, and, although Bucky might, Steve damn well didn't lie. Bucky wanted to ask Agent Carter for the file, as he was sure she'd have access to it, but if he did ask, surely it was rouse her suspicions, and if Steve had told, and Agent Carter saw…

Steve. Bucky knew it wasn't his fault, but he felt so damn guilty about his friend's disappearance. His best friend. Steve had to turn up. He had to be alright. He was a Super Soldier after all. Surely that had to count for something. It wasn't Bucky's fault at all. He couldn't have stopped Steve from taking that plane. He couldn't have stopped any of it. It wasn't his fault that he fell out of that damned train, yet, if Steve was dead… Had Bucky not spent his whole life protecting Steve? Defending him? Looking after him? Sharing his lunch with Steve, sharing his pocket money, wood for the fire, ration tickets, everything, anything. There was nothing Bucky wouldn't have done for Steve Rogers, but now Steve was gone all the same.

"I let you down, Steve," Bucky whispered into his pillow, feeling tears well up in his eyes and biting his lip to stop himself from crying.

* * *

Bucky stood against the railing of the ship,and watched as Southampton slowly disappeared from view. Their passenger ship was folk from the great land on the west of the Atlantic, with a smattering of military personnel. And Agent Carter, of course. Bucky gripped the railing with the right hand and swayed in motion with the ship. He found the motion comforting, as now everyone was swaying slightly as they walked, and not just him. Most of the symptoms of Bucky's illness had vanished, the fever and chills and the shaking, but he was still weak and unsteady on his feet. Southampton was soon gone from view, as the mist and clouds that ever surrounded the rainy, damp island of Great Britain masked the port from view. Bucky went to head inside when he discovered Agent Carter standing by his side.

"Oh, hello,"

"Hello, Mr Barnes."

Bucky knew he should say something along the lines of 'thank-you' to Agent Carter, but he wasn't quite sure how. He had found out, just the day prior, that he had been listed as dead. It was Agent Carter who had called on just about every contact she knew in order to get Bucky's name removed from the list of the dead, and to get him issued a passport to return to America. All in under a week. "It sure is windy," Bucky said, for lack of anything better to say.

"I know," Agent Carter replied. Bucky turned to look at her, the wind blowing his hair across his face. Without thinking, he went to brush it way with his left arm - only to be once more cruelly reminded that it wasn't there. Bucky just flicked his head instead; the wind would only blow the hair back anyway. Howard Stark occasionally joked that Bucky needed a proper gentleman's haircut, since it hadn't been cut since before his fall, but Bucky didn't care. He didn't mind it longer.

"I bet it'll be windy the whole way back across the Atlantic. Hope we don't hit any storms."

"The weather should be fair enough," Agent Carter said. She sounded sad.

"Did you want to stay?" Bucky asked.

Agent Carter sighed. "No. I don't know," she said, still staring back into the clouds toward where her homeland lay, "It's just that this isn't how I expected it to be."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," Bucky said. He turned and looked back out to sea. Out there, somewhere in the sea presumably, lay Steve. Bucky had a feeling that Agent Carter was likely thinking about the good Captain too. "I'm gunna go inside. Go find my cabin."

"Alright," Agent Carter said absently, "See you later."

Bucky turned around and, running his right hand along the wall to keep himself balanced, headed inside, avoiding the glances of his fellow passengers. He found his cabin, 4B, complete with his two small suitcases sitting on the narrow bed. At least he had a room to himself. Stark had been kind enough to arrange for that. Bucky removed his coat and hung it up on the back of the door. He opened his suitcases and unpacked a few things, then moved the cases to the floor. The process was slow and frustrating, and part of Bucky just wanted to through his things across the cabin and yell, but he kept his cool, and finally just lay down on the bed. It was comfortable enough; he'd certainly slept on worse beds, and he supposed he should be grateful to be returning to the States. Why, some folks would say that he should just be grateful to be alive.

The war in Europe was over, and the war in the Pacific was coming to a close. So why did it feel so wrong? Perhaps because it was wrong, Bucky thought. The whole damned thing was just wrong. Bucky rolled onto his left, but it was awkward and uncomfortable and created a dull pain in his shoulder. He rolled back onto his back, feeling all the more frustrated.

"I didn't sign up for this," he murmured to his cabin, "I didn't 'sign up' at all…"

* * *

**A/N:** I'm following the school of thought here that Bucky was drafted into the Army, rather than a 'volunteer' like Steve.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for the follows and favourites :)


	5. Chapter 5

"You're right," Peggy said, entering Howard's cabin without knocking.

"I always am," he replied, looking up only briefly from his work.

"Right, well, no, often you're completely wrong, but never mind."

"What am I right about this time then?" Howard asked.

"Bucky."

"Oh yes. Of course."

"You don't know what I mean because I haven't told you yet."

"Oh, right, well, what about Bucky?" Howard asked.

"There's something he's not telling us."

"Oh, that. Yes, I know."

"Well, you're right. Whatever it is, I don't know if he's told anyone, but I think it's about why he survived. And it scares him, Mr Stark, this secret of his. I think that's what gives him the nightmares."

"He said the nightmares always end with him falling from the train."

"That doesn't mean that's how they start," Peggy said, "Or that he's telling the truth."

"So how do we get it out of him?"

"We don't," Peggy said.

"Well then Agent Carter, I'm so glad you came to see me. Your input has been outstanding," Howard said sarcastically.

"Mr Stark…" Peggy said dryly.

"Look, Peggy," Howard said, putting down his pen, "He should be dead. If he knows something that we could use to help others, then surely…"

"No, Howard," Peggy said sternly, "Some secrets we must all be allowed to keep, until we feel ready to share. Something happened to Bucky that he's too frightened to speak of. And I for one certainly won't force him."

"So why have you come to see me?" Howard asked, "Just to let me know that you agree with me on something I already knew?"

Peggy sighed. "I wish I knew how to help him," she said, leaning against the desk.

"We are helping him," Howard said, "And we can help him more once we get back to the States."

"I know. It's just - if we could find Steve, or, any - I don't know."

Howard took a deep breath. "There's not much more we can do about that, Peg. Not until we're State-side."

"You think returning to America will fix everything."

"No," Howard said, "But it will fix the fact that I'll be back in America and able to get my hands on the resources I need, which I can then use to fix everything."

Peggy rolled her eyes. "I won't keep you. Oh, this came for you too," Peggy said, laying a telegram down on Howard's desk, noticing what he was working on. "You're the one that has to tell him about that idea of yours," Peggy said, gesturing toward the drawings.

"Give me another week, and I'll be ready to…"

"Tell him. Before we arrive."

"Alright," Stark sighed, "In the morning. I'm not doing it now."

"You better," Peggy said, "And read that telegram. It looks official."

"They all look official," Howard muttered, picking up the telegram, "Thanks."

Peggy gave Howard a smile before she left, but she felt that the gesture seemed somehow tired or forced. After she left, she wasn't sure why she'd gone to him at all, other than to give him the telegram. She sighed as she walked down the narrow hallway. Peggy missed Steve more than she cared to admit, especially to Howard. She felt a duty toward Bucky, who, for all his courage, was every bit just a scared and injured young man.

* * *

Bucky woke up. At least he thought he woke up. He was confused and didn't recognise the room and something was holding him down and it was too hot and too stuffy and the room was - rocking? Bucky inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath. The motion had bought him back to the real world. He was awake. He was in his room, onboard the ship. It was hot and it was stuffy, but the only thing holding him down was the tangled sheet. Also, the room _was_ rocking, but that was just the motion of the ship. Bucky sat up, feeling feverish and queasy. Perhaps going back to America was a bad idea. It wasn't as though he could force the ship to turn around, but perhaps once they reached New York he could just board another ship back to Southampton. Peggy would probably come with him if he asked. He liked England. He understood it, and it understood him, and the war. It was just as broken and torn up as he was. America wouldn't be like that. It would be exactly how he left it, and, well, Bucky thought, he wasn't close to being the man he was when he left at all.

He wiped his brow, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable. Bucky stood up and opened the door. The lights in the hallway were on, and Bucky stumbled down the hallway, barefooted and without a dressing gown, to the door at the end, which opened out onto the deck. He stepped into the cold night air, feeling the breeze cut through his thin cotton pyjamas, taking in deep breaths, but it wasn't enough. Bucky walked carefully over to the railing, held on, lent over and vomited into the ocean below. Once he was sure he had nothing left to throw up, Bucky went and sat down on one of the benches on deck.

There were a number of clouds drifting across the sky, and the quarter moon came and went as the clouds blew across it. Bucky watched the clouds and wondered. He didn't know what he was to do once the ship landed. No one wanted a one-armed ex-solider. One-legged would be easier, because at least a desk job could be a goer, but with only one arm…

Bucky sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He had to trust that Stark and Agent Carter had a plan, and pray that he was a part of it. He wasn't clever like them, though. He was a good soldier, but the wasn't a tactician or engineer or ideas guy in general. He was just an ordinary kid from Brooklyn.

Stark was in demand. Everyone wanted him. Public sector, private sector, secret services, emergency services. You name it, they wanted Howard Stark. Stark had been constantly receiving telegrams whilst they were onboard the ship asking him to help out with different initiatives, government and otherwise.

"If I get one more bloody telegram telling me to go to New Mexico, I - I don't know what I'll do," Stark had been complaining over dinner, "I don't care if it comes from the President himself, I'm not going to New Mexico. I do not know what they're doing there, no one will tell me anything and I don't even _like_ New Mexico. I'm part of enough secret projects, I don't want to be part of whatever they've got happening there.I don't care. I'm not going. They can't make me. Barnes, read this. 'Mr H Stark, presence required NM. Urgent. Plane at NY upon arrival. Not negotiable.' Not negotiable, my ass. I'm not going. My job is to find Captain Rogers. I'll send a telegram to the President to tell him to tell these jackasses to leave me alone. I'm not going to New Mexico."

Stark had ranted on and on through most of their evening meal, with Bucky and Agent Carter nodding and saying "ah huh," in the correct places.

Bucky shivered and decided he had been sitting outside for long enough. He stood up and slowly walked back inside and down the hallway to his bedroom, swaying in motion with the ship. Bucky shut his door and sat down on the bed. The room still felt hot and stuffy, but he didn't care so much any more. He knew why he was so shaken; why the dream tonight had made him ill. The dreams that ended with falling off the train were bad, but they weren't _that_ bad. At least whenever he had one of those dreams, Bucky knew when he was awake. It was the other dream that was the problem. The one he couldn't tell anyone about, since he couldn't find the words for. The one he didn't want them to know, because he didn't want to know it himself. It had felt like a bad dream at the time, it was so dark, and cramped and stuffy and everyone spoke German. He had been confused and hurt and poked and prodded and they - well, then Steve had shown up. Of all the people in the world. Steven Rogers. There, in that HYDRA base, rescuing folk. Rescuing him.

Bucky lay down and pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling alone._You found me, Steve. When I needed you the most, you found me._


End file.
